


Treasure Trove

by Kookaburrra



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Short Stories, Unfinished, Various Genres
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:11:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookaburrra/pseuds/Kookaburrra
Summary: Collection of unfinished stories, short pieces, abandoned works, poetry and whatever else I feel like putting in here.





	1. Waves

**Author's Note:**

> This was set up to be a chaptered story. However, my motivation for continuing it went on holiday, and never came back. Heck, it might still be out there somewhere...if you see it, please tell it that I’d like it to return.

There was something about the ocean that calmed her. To be honest, she didn't actually much like swimming in it, but Finch had to admit that watching the waves creep up the beach could be relaxing. Also, beach combing was kinda fun. She'd found some really interesting shells, as well as a carved clay tablet that someone must've dropped. Still, it wasn't really stealing if she'd just happened to come across it lying on the beach. Which she had. So there.

Now she sat on the rocks, watching terns diving for fish just below the surface. The sea was calm, and almost as flat as a mirror, reflecting the slowly setting sun. All was peaceful, and Finch was just beginning to drift off when a loud splash jolted her back to her senses. It sounded almost as if something had jumped, or at least half-jumped, but as Finch glanced round, there was nothing to be seen. Whatever it was had sounded big, however.

"A fish?" She muttered. "It's possible, I suppose. Big fish are unlikely to be this close to shore...maybe a seal?"

She scanned the nearby area, finding nothing, apart from a seagull perched a few feet away, eyeing her warily. Or maybe hopefully, on the off chance that she might have food.

"You're jumping at nothing, girl. Just a wave hitting the rocks."

But there were no waves. Not that Finch could see, anyway. Again she scanned the surrounding area, even going so far as to peer down into the clear water. The ripples at the surface distorted things a little, but...what was that? There was a dark shape a little way off. At first it simply seemed like a clump of seaweed drifting aimlessly, but now she looked at it again, it didn't seem right somehow. She blinked and shook her head.

"Probably getting a little tired. Maybe I should head home. Yep, sounds like a good idea."

She stood in one fluid movement, pulling her thin jacket on, since it had gotten rather chilly. Turning, she began to pick her way carefully back across the rocks, unaware that she'd accidentally left the carved clay tablet behind. And that the dark shape she'd seen had altered position. A dark skinned hand, with long webbed fingers shot out of the water, grasping and pulling the tablet down under the surface.

————————————————————

The sound of seagulls calling woke Finch from an uneasy sleep. Much as they did every morning. She blinked blearily, then fumbled for her phone. 05.35. She groaned, but still, the possibility of getting back to sleep was rather unlikely. Once she was awake, that was it.

The light flickered on as she entered the bathroom, yawning and adjusting her glasses. Her fringe dropped across one eye. Irritated, she pushed it off to one side. She could really do with a haircut soon. Normally she was fairly good at keeping it neat and tidy, but money had been tight recently, and right now her hair was starting to look rather like a mullet. Ah well, couldn't be helped.

Her phone beeped as she was crunching through her second piece of toast. She glanced at the message.

—You up?—

—Yep. Guessing you're also awake, unless you wrote that text in your sleep. I'll be down on Gylly beach, if you want to join me.—

————————————————————————————-  
The beach was quiet. Not really surprising, given the time of morning. Finch had seen a few solitary runners, but apart from that, it almost seemed as if she was the only person awake in the whole world. Almost, anyway. The crunching of shingle behind her alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone.

"Probably could've guessed you'd be here, even without you telling me."

"Hello to you too, Sam," Finch muttered without turning round, the corners of her mouth turning up. "Y' know, you didn't have to come."

She could almost sense Sam rolling her eyes. "And miss the chance of watching you beach comb yet again? You wound me."

Finch glanced over her shoulder, winking at the dark haired girl. "Ah, you love it. Don't try and tell me otherwise."

Sam shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. "I have no idea why I put up with you sometimes."

"Because you're my friend? Or maybe because we both usually end up waking up at unholy o'clock in the morning, and normally find ourselves coming down here?"

"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "Then again, maybe not. Waves look good today."

"Yeah. Not as calm as it was yesterday."

Sam couldn't help noticing that Finch's pockets already seemed to bulge slightly. She didn't know why beach combing held such a fascination for her friend, but to be honest, it was a pretty harmless pastime. And she did enjoy watching as Finch would excitedly hold up her latest discovery.

"So," she said at last. "Found anything good?"

Finch shrugged. "Couple of nice stones. Few shells. A hedgehog."

"A...what? Why would a hedgehog be on the beach? Or are you pulling my leg?"

Finch dug a hand into one pocket, pulling out a decent sized ceramic model. It sat balanced in her palm. A few of the spines were broken, but overall it really didn't look that battered.

"Spotted it in a rock pool over there. Guess someone left it?"

"...Only you could find something like that, Finch. And only you could treat it like finding a seashell."

"Ah, makes life interesting. I also found this. Not sure what to make of it, however." She dug in her pocket again, fishing the object in question out. She'd found it in the same rock pool as the hedgehog, and though it was clear what it was, there was something about it that puzzled her. Now she handed it to Sam, who stared at it for a long while.

"It's a scale," Sam said at last. "Looks like a...lionfish?"

"That's what I thought. Except lionfish aren't found in these waters. Bigger as well. Tried to think of what else might have similar markings to a lionfish, but...drew a blank. It's strange."

"Humm. Maybe it's fake?"

"Does it look fake to you?" There was a trace of annoyance in Finch's reply that made Sam glance up at her. "Sorry. It's just...I keep getting this feeling of being watched. Not all the time. Usually while I'm scrambling over the rocks. But there's never anything there when I look up."

"Maybe it's just your imagination? I know that when I first moved down here, I felt like something was watching me."

"Possibly? Not a far fetched idea. Still, I thought I saw something yesterday, Sam. In the water. Thought it was just seaweed at first, but something seemed a little odd about the way it moved."

"A seal?"

"No. Wrong time of year for them to be so close to shore. Probably was just seaweed, now that I think about it. Maybe my brain was trying to trick me into thinking it was something else."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, probably." She glanced at her watch. "Don't know about you, but I could really do with one of those hot chocolates you make. It's getting pretty chilly just stood here, especially with this wind."

Finch smiled. "Okay. Let's go."

————————————————————

She loved watching human beings. Even when she'd been young, surrounded by her siblings, she'd take any opportunity she could to sneak off to the shallows and just watch humans going about their daily lives. Though she couldn't understand why they wore funny pieces of cloth over their skin. Were they embarrassed by their nakedness? Or was it something else? And the way they talked. She was fascinated by the different accents she heard, though she didn't understand anything that they were saying.

Her family...well, she had no idea where they were now. They'd been seperated years ago, and she'd ended up in much cooler waters than she was used to. Over the years, however, she'd grown used to it. She missed the lush coral reefs, but did enjoy wrapping herself in seaweed at night. And watching people, of course. There was one in particular. A tallish female. She'd often watched her scrabbling over the rocks, and seen her peering into rock pools. Something about the human attracted her. Maybe they could even be friends?

All she had to do was find a way to meet the human.


	2. Something to do with mutants

Usually, it's the mutants who are outnumbered by the normal people.

In books and films, at least.

That isn't how it is in real life. In fact, it's the mutants who outnumber the normal humans. I can't tell you when it started, since it happened before I was conceived, but slowly, over a period of many years, the number of babies born with powers increased. Until they started to outnumber the amount of babies born without powers, they weren't considered much of a threat.

Which, in hindsight, was a big mistake.

They've taken positions of power. Slowly squeezed their way up the ranks, gaining supporters as they go. Gradually, they've unseated normal humans, and pushed them down the ladder, which in turn, enables other mutants to start making their own way up the ladder to the top. They're sneaky about it though. They'll let normal people think that they have that promotion in the bag, then grab it from under their nose.

I'm sure not all mutants are like that. In fact, some of them could be fairly decent. I know some of them are fairly decent. My parents, for one. They're both mutants, yet they're actually nice to normal people. A lot of mutants either ignore or outright disregard the non-mutant population.

Which just fans the flames of dissent, if you ask me.

There have, however, been incidents. Incidents where normal people have tried to overthrow the mutants. These never ended well. For the normal humans, at least.

Maybe they're not as stupid as we've been taught. Maybe, one of these days, they'll come up with a way to be rid of us once and for all.

Then what'll we do?


	3. Wanderers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really bad at starting things, and then leaving them to rot, or never letting them see the light of day again. This was one of those pieces.

The carcass of the sheep was several days old. Although the ravens had had their fill of the choicest parts, there was still enough meat on the bones to satisfy the two scavenging Golden eagles. Their hooked beaks made short work of the rotting flesh as Scarp and Gorm fed. Wanderers both, the two had been quartering the field in search of prey when Scarp had spotted the dead sheep.

Neither of them spotted the female perched quietly nearby.

"Might I partake of your feast?"

Scarp glanced round before fixing the intruder with a challenging glare. Besides him, Gorm mantled aggressively. The new arrival was hunched and old, and the gloss had gone from her feathers, which were frayed and sticking out in odd directions. Her eyes were still sharp though.

"Might I partake of your feast?" She asked again. "I am just a wanderer, and have not eaten for several days."

"Find your own food, old one. This is ours."

She hopped down from the rock she'd been perching on and shuffled forward a few steps. Old as she was, she was still larger than the two sub-adult males, and her talons still wickedly curved.

"That's no way to speak to your elders. Did your parents teach you nothing while you were still in the nest? Had I hatched you, I'd have pecked some manners into you."

"My brother is somewhat rash, but he is right. We found this sheep first, therefore it is ours." Scarp was somewhat more polite than his brother, but even he was unwilling to make way for the female.

Her head bobbed on her scrawny neck. "Were my mate here, I wager you'd stand aside and let us feed."

"I see no mate." Gorm muttered, clacking his beak in disdain.

"No," she agreed. "His bones have long since returned to the earth. I was merely stating what would have happened if he were still alive."

"You have a strange accent, old one. Where do you hail from?" Scarp asked. Despite himself, he found that his interest in this old, scruffy female was rising.

"Tell me where you were raised first. Then mayhap I'll tell you."

"Callanish. That was our birthplace."

"Callanish, was it? It's said that many a wise eagle came from there." A note of admiration had crept into the old female's voice. "Although I myself have never visited."

Scarp preened a while before answering. "You seem to know something of the eagles of Callanish for never having visited it yourself."

"News travels faster than you might think. Besides, I've met many a eagle from there in my time." She'd hopped onto the head of the sheep, and tore off a strip of meat. "Ah, tis good to feed! You asked about where I hailed from, I believe. My mate and I were travelers for a long while, but we finally settled in North Uist."

"You do not sound Scottish. Not completely, anyway."

She tore off another strip of meat before replying. "I was not originally from Scotland, if that's what you mean. Nor was my mate."

"Where were you from, then?" Gorm was the older and less patient of the two brothers, and he was beginning to become bored of the game the female seemed to be playing with them.

"The south." Was the old female's answer."I can't tell you where, for that I've forgotten, but I hail from the south."

"There are no eagles in the south. Not anymore."

"Not wild ones, no."

Scarp ruffled his feathers irritably. "Are you being deliberately cryptic with us, old one? What do you mean by "not wild ones"? Do you mean to say that you came from a collection of some kind?"

"My name, youngster, is Skaforn, not old one. And yes, I suppose you could say that I came from a collection."

"Skaforn? That's not a name I know. Sounds like something from the far north."

"Prehaps it is," was Skaforn's answer. "I was born a captive, and never knew my parents, so maybe they did come from the far north. I don't know."

The two males were silent a long time. Scarp watched the old female for a while. Her eyes, fierce and clear, gazed off into the distance. She seemed to be lost in her own memories.

"Tell us." He said at last.

Skaforn blinked, and transferred her gaze to him. "Tell you what?"

"Your story. It seems you have much to tell. And I was ever interested in the history of others of our kind."

"My story? It is a long one, and one I don't care to revisit these days."

"My brother is curious." Gorm muttered. "And I fear that you've caught my interest as well, Skaforn."

"My story is a long one." She repeated. "I fear you'd get bored long before the conclusion."

Scarp grew aggravated. "Begone then, if you will not share your story with us! Begone and leave my brother and I in peace."

"I do not remember saying that I wouldn't tell you, only that it's one that I don't care to revisit these days." She clacked her beak tiredly. "Very well. If you insist, then I suppose I must."


	4. OC personality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few paragraphs on the personality of a OC of mine. Think I’m making him a little too...something or other. IDEK, to be honest.

In all honesty, Banbh's not the bravest individual in the herd. His expression may say otherwise, but underneath he's really just a big scaredy-cat. More likely to turn tail than fight at the first sign of any threat. Anything can send him into a tizzy, be it a predator attempting an ambush or a sudden, unexpected noise. That "flight rather than fight" response has saved the lives of both him and his friends a few times, however.

He's only really comfortable talking with Devon, Haforn (his adoptive mother) or the few other friends he has. Around anyone new, or those older than him, he hardly says anything, unless they engage him in conversation. Even then, his replies are likely to be monosyllabic. Banbh doesn't mean to be rude. It's just that he has no idea how to start a conversation. Nor how to keep one going, for that matter. If, however, he's engaged in a conversation about something that interests him, then he will grow slightly more animated, and even volunteer a few nuggets of information. Overall though, he's happier listening than talking.

Insects fascinate him. The variety of shapes and sizes they come in intrigues him, and he can spend days tracking the migrations of butterflies, or the flight pattern of a hunting dragonfly. The only exception to the rule are flies. Those he will quite happily swat with his tail, should they even think about trying to land on him.

Despite his timid nature, Banbh is something of a wanderer. He's fascinated by the lands beyond the forest, and can sometimes vanish for months on end, usually without telling anyone where he's going or when he'll be back. 

He's rather accident-prone. His fear of the unknown, as well as unexpected noises, can send him running full speed ahead, meaning that he doesn't really notice any obstacles that might be in his way, or sometimes he'll try to squeeze through gaps that are just too narrow to get through without minor injury. Trouble is that he has a slight phobia of blood, so is useless at treating himself or any other injured member of the herd.

More insecure and prone to bouts of jealousy than he’d like to admit. He tries not to let things get to him too much, but honestly, they do. Can normally keep his feelings under control, but occasionally things come to a head, and the emotions he’s tried to hide come bubbling up to the surface. The results after such an event often aren’t pretty. He’s quick to apologise after he’s cooled down, however.


	5. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the only thing I have ever finished. Well, that I can remember anyway. Written in second person POV because I wanted to try it out.

Dead grass crunches underneath your paws. In the excitement of the hunt, you've somehow become separated from the rest of the pack. Howling gets you nowhere, as you only hear your voice echoing back at you. You scan the surrounding area, hoping to catch a sign of movement, but see nothing. It's almost as if you're the only living thing out here. Your human mind might find that rather ironic, but, since you're a wolf at the moment, all that matters to you is that you find the others. Wolves don't do well on their own.

You trot onwards, sniffing the wind for any scent drifting upon it. This wind however, is too fierce. It tears at your fur, and whistles around you, bringing the threat of rain with it. The clouds hover overhead, dark and foreboding. Rain doesn't overly bother you. If it does start to pour it down, then you can just find shelter. After all, you've hunted in a downpour before.

You stop to howl again. There's always a chance that the pack are near by, and that you've somehow missed them. No answering howls reach your ears, and so, with a slightly heavier tread than before, you move on again, across the endless expanse of plain, still searching for any sign of life.

Wolves have no concept of time, and so you have no idea how long you've been searching. It's raining steadily now, and your fur is beginning to clump together. But still you keep on, your ears twisting this way and that, straining to hear any sound of life through the howling wind.

Perhaps, if you were human right now, you'd have given up long ago. Just lain down on the wet grass and stared at the sky. Until you were either rescued or died. As a wolf though, giving up isn't an option. However, your brain is telling you that perhaps you should get out of the rain. Getting your coat soaking wet isn't going to help you much in your search. Changing direction, you head towards a patch of scrubby trees.

It's sheltered under the trees, not by much, but just enough so that the wind isn't quite so fierce and the rain no longer lashes you in the eyes. You flop down, panting. Overhead, a bird gives voice to an alarm call, and flies off. Heaving a sigh, you lower your head onto your forelegs. A doze right now wouldn't do you any harm, after all.

There's a wolf watching you when you awake. He's a stranger though, and you watch him warily. He doesn't come any nearer, just stares at you. A big, almost black wolf, with a scar across his muzzle. There's something about his eyes that sends a strange shiver down your spine. It's almost as if he recognizes you, although you're certain you've never seen him before.

He stands suddenly, in one fluid motion, then turns and walks off a little way, before glancing over his shoulder. On seeing you stand, he starts walking again, thereby forcing you to follow. He never lets you get too close, but, when you start to lag behind, he stops until you've almost caught up with him, and then moves off again.

Once out of the woods, he takes off running, and you too, begin to run. He's fast, faster than you, and once or twice you almost lose him, but each time, it almost seems as if he drops the pace, just to allow you to come a little closer. But never too close.

The sun is shining now. Down below you, near the lake, caribou graze. Your mouth starts to water instinctively, but hunting isn't foremost in your mind. All you want to do is keep up with this strange dark wolf. You don't know where he's leading you, but you still follow him.

It seems as though you've been running a long time, when the stranger suddenly stops, so suddenly that you have to slam on the brakes. He's staring at something ahead of him.

It's your pack.

They respond to your howls, and, as they head towards you, so you trot past the stranger, meeting your brothers and sisters half way. You don't glance back, but, at the last minute, a powerful howl causes you to do so.

The dark wolf is howling. Something in his howl sounds so familiar, that you can't resist howling back. Just once, however, since the others are bristling and growling at the sight of an unfamiliar wolf.

He turns, and trots away. And you turn back to your family, the memory of that strange encounter already beginning to slip out of your mind.


	6. Song of the guinea pigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two guinea pigs. One of them shouts his opinions at the top of his voice if he thinks they’ve gone long enough without food. Would be lost without them though!

The back door means grass is coming.  
The fridge means veggies are coming.  
The biscuit tin means nuggets are coming.  
If I go out and come in the front door food is coming.  
And so it goes on.  
They sing their song.  
Wheek Wheek Wheek!  
And I sing mine. No No No!


End file.
